Quotes added on Monday, September 16 2013
Brody was crying again; loud and clear over the baby monitor. I
groggily checked the clock. It was 3am. They say having kids is
worth it, but so far it's been grueling. I slowly sat up, rubbing
my eyes. To my relief, I heard Brody's door open, followed by the
sound of soft slippers padding their way into his room. It was my
turn to take care of Brody, but Nichole must have beat me to it.
I couldn't have asked for a better wife and mother. While still
rubbing my eyes, I heard a soft, odd-sounding humming through the
baby monitor. Brody almost immediately stopped crying. Thank
goodness...I only had 3 hours left to sleep. I laid back down,
turning over to get more comfortable. My eyes fell upon Nichole's
silhouette. She was sitting straight-backed, looking down at me.
Though I couldn't see her face, I'm sure it was as panicked as
mine. I jumped out of bed with a start. I sped out of the room
and into the hallway, followed closely behind by what sounded
like Nichole raspily trying to keep up while tangled in sheets.
Half naked, I rushed through Brody's doorway and flipped on the
lights. Brody was being cradled softly by Nichole; anger and
confusion plain on her face. Nichole's eyes drifted past me, and
her face contorted with terror. The crying started again as I
slowly turned around.
As I sat on the warm toilet seat, I remembered that I live alone.
Mommy said we’re going to play a game. A game of hide and seek,
and Daddy would be It. Mommy told me to find a really, really
good place to hide, and not to make a sound. She said that if he
finds me, then the game changes to tag, and to run away as fast
as I can. I’m really good at hide and seek, though. I don’t
think he’ll find me. I can hear him yelling for me and Mommy.
He must be really frustrated. Oh, Mommy just screamed! He must
have surprised her. I can hear her crying; she must really hate
losing. She sure makes some weird noises when she cries! She
sounds like she’s gagging on something. Ah, she’s quiet now;
she must have remembered to be a good loser, like she tells me
when I cry after I lose. there's light peeking into my hiding
spot in the toy box and a figure covers me with its shadow. Man,
Daddy found me! He’s really good at this game.
Timothy tried his hardest to blow out the fifteen flickering
candles. He huffed and puffed... but to no avail. He glanced at
his mother who had spent hours slaving away to bake the beautiful
cake, and her expression made him feel unbearably guilty.
Timothy's mother stared sadly at the unyielding flames that
barely faltered in the face of Timothy's feeble attempts to snuff
them out. She blinked a few times and the first tears started
falling down her face. Whispering "Happy birthday, sweetie," she
summoned a gust of wind and the dancing lights dissipated into
puffs of smoke. Timothy didn't understand why he couldn't do
that. It happened every year: his mother baked a perfect cake, he
failed to blow out the candles, and she cried. The only thing
that changed was the number of candles. Timothy went to go hug
his mother... but to no avail. He merely drifted through her, and
he didn't understand that either.
That sexual tension when someone says to you, "make
me".
We think cats are adorable no matter
how skinny or fat they are so why
do we treat humans any differently?
